


Good Kind of Hurt

by wilddragonflying



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, inspiration taken from something my characters did, lil bit of angst, on the sims 3 supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After college, Stiles and Derek move to Moonlight Falls, where the supernatural run rampant, and it's not quite so easy to ignore hidden feelings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Kind of Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I buy the Sims 3: Supernatural and make Derek and Stiles as Sims and make them move in together, and then see them both sitting on the couch in their tiny-ass house reading books(Derek was reading a cookbook, Stiles was reading some children's book with a weird-ass title, go figure.) with the TV going in the background.
> 
> Yeah, I shouldn't get any more Sims expansion packs.
> 
> But I will.

Stiles wasn't sure how it happened.

One minute, they were just sitting on the couch, watching TV and arguing over whether Sam or Dean would stand a better chance against Derek(Stiles was rooting for Sam; that man had four inches on Derek and was a trained and seasoned hunter. Derek just insisted that he could take them both.), and the next?

The next they were kissing.

It was...

Nice.

Everything Stiles had dreamed of ever since he first realized that he was lusting after the Alpha.

***

Maybe he should explain  _why_  he was sitting on Derek's couch and arguing over  _Supernatural._

See, Derek didn't stay around Beacon Hills after Stiles left for college(Stiles didn't think it had anything to do with him, but a guy could hope.). Instead, he basically dumped his pack on Scott-- "Congratulations, you're a true Alpha now"-- and moved.

To a town called "Moonlight Falls," of all fucking places.

Seriously, what the hell?

But after Stiles received an offer from the law enforcement there-- for a job, since Stiles had decided to follow in his father's footsteps since there were no job openings for "magical-spark-dude"-- he found out what the attraction was.

Moonlight Falls was a town full of the supernatural.

Yep. Fairies and Witches and Vampires, oh my!

Oh, and werewolves.

Anyway, Stiles received an offer, he went to check out the town, ran into Derek, explained the situation when Derek asked, "What the  _fuck_  are you doing in a town like this?", and Derek grudgingly(or not; Derek always said everything grudgingly. It was hard to tell when the grudging was authentic.) offered Stiles the use of the second bedroom in the house Derek had bought.

A month later, Stiles moved in.

The work wasn't too bad; Moonlight Falls was a small, relatively quiet town. Not much for the police force to do, although Stiles's knowledge of the supernatural came in handy whenever the Witches and Fairies got into a spat, or when the Van Goulds and Wolffs started facing off over the issue of whose-family-really-founded-Moonlight-Falls. 

And, perhaps most surprisingly, Stiles and Derek actually got along.

Granted, their morning conversations generally went something like this:

"Morning." (Stiles)

"Mrph." (Derek)

"Coffee?" (Stiles)

"M-mrgh." (Derek)

And so on until Stiles left at 8 to go to work until 4. Derek didn't seem to have a job, although money kept cropping up from  _somewhere_  to pay for the bills, so he was always home when Stiles was.

And apparently, he'd taken up cooking.

Seriously.

Stiles would arrive home at precisely 4:17PM, on the dot, every day. That carpool driver was damn reliable. And when Stiles walked through the door? His olfactory senses would be assaulted with the meal of the evening. Monday was Beef Day, Tuesday was Turkey Day, Wednesday was Chicken Day, Thursday was Pig Day, Friday was Fish day, and the weekends were basically Fend for Yourself, Asshole, Because I Ain't Cooking Your Lazy Ass Any More Damned Food.

Stiles usually just had cereal and pizza rolls all weekend.

Then, after dinner, they'd sit on the couch, and they would either read together, watch TV together, or one would read while the other would watch TV.

And a bit after 10 every evening, Stiles would inevitably get up, stretch, yawn, stretch again and pop his back, say "G'night, Douchebeard," receive an answering grunt/growl from Derek(depending on who won the nightly Television Debate), and head to his bedroom.

And then it would start again the next day.

All in all, it wasn't too bad. 

And then Derek started acting oddly.

Nothing much, just... Well, he didn't growl as menacingly anymore. Normally, Stiles would worry that Derek was sick, except for the tiny little fact that werewolves don't get sick unless it involves wolfsbane, and Stiles  _knew_  there was none or around the house, and that he hadn't accidentally brought any home.

And it wasn't just the growls.

Derek was-- honest-to-God, cross my heart and hope to die-- being  _affectionate._  Insomuch as Derek was capable of being affectionate. He didn't growl menacingly, he didn't grunt, he actually  _answered Stiles with words_ \-- things which Stiles was  _sure_  Derek didn't know the use for-- and he wasn't so quick to shove Stiles away, growling about his "fucking  _rank_  ass, man, when was the last time you took a shower?"

It was weird.

And seriously fucking with Stiles's emotions.

Because, hell.

He'd kind of been head-over-heels in lust/love with Derek for years now.

So, yeah. Having Derek acting all… lovey-dovey was screwing with Stiles and kind of making Stiles act lovey-dovey as well. There was a lot more physical contact between them that did not involve wrestling(sadly, still not of the bedsport kind), they were  _nice_  to each other, and just… couple-y.

Couple-y?

Really?

Well, no one ever said that Stiles was the best at wielding his vocabulary.

He has one, he swears.

It just doesn’t like to cooperate.

Anyway, Derek.

And affection.

Affectionate Derek.

Fucking  _hell_ , what was the world coming to?

***

Then the night with the television and the kiss.

So yeah.

One minute arguing, the next kissing.

Derek’s lips were warm and firm under Stiles, and Stiles could feel the blood pounding through his head and body as he brought one hand up to cup Derek’s face, feeling both of Derek’s hands latch onto his face and tilt it, angling it so Derek had better access as he licked across the seam of Stiles’s lips.

Pretty much the best kiss of Stiles’s life, if the way he was moaning and pressing harder against Derek, whining in the back of his throat—seriously, fucking  _whining_? Get a grip, Stiles—and desperate for more contact between them.

Apparently along with the new physical closeness between them came the amazing ability of telepathy, because Derek was roughly yanking Stiles’s shirt off, and Stiles was insanely glad that he always wore a plaid shirt, because it easily popped off so he didn’t have to break the kiss. Unfortunately,  _Derek_  was wearing a tank top, and that was  _still_  too many clothes for Stiles, so he whined some more—amazing vocabulary, right?—and tugged ineffectually at the hem of Derek’s shirt until Derek got the message and fucking  _ripped his own shirt off_.

Stiles’s brain kind of lost track of events after that.

The next thing he remembered was waking up, on the couch, Derek curled up behind him and pressing against his back, nosing gently at the back of Stiles’s neck, and  _fucking hell_  it hurt like a motherfucker, but a close second was the pain in his ass, and then it really hit Stiles that he was fucking  _naked_  on the fucking  _couch_  with fucking  _Derek Hale_  spooning him from behind, and Derek’s fucking  _morning wood_  pressing against Stiles’s sore hole.

Stiles is not afraid to man up and admit that he squeaked and fell off of the couch, hissing at the pain as his abused ass(and now that he got a look at Derek’s cock, yeah. Abused was the right word—something that size should  _never_  go up someone’s ass.) and staring in horror at Derek, who was watching Stiles warily, comprehension in his eyes.

Stiles squeaked again and picked himself off of the floor, not bothering with his clothes as he sprinted for his bedroom.

***

Stiles didn’t emerge for a couple of hours—he wasn’t sure whether to be thankful of or curse the fact that it was Saturday—and he studiously ignored Derek knocking on his bedroom door, calling his name and asking—fucking  _asking_ , and why the hell was the Alpha being so polite?—for Stiles to please come out so that Derek could talk to him.

Stiles managed to hold out until Derek came back after almost an hour of silence.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was soft, and there was an odd note to it, one that Stiles didn’t want to analyze right this moment. “I’m sorry. I should have—“ Stiles heard a noise that sounded like a breath being blown through Derek’s nostrils. “I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t touch you again, I swear. I just—Don’t leave. Please. If you’re packing your stuff, please don’t. I understand if you want to leave, but… But I don’t want you to.” The last part was said in a whisper so quiet that Stiles had to strain his weak human ears to hear it. “I swear I won’t touch you again, Stiles. I just don’t want this to fuck everything up between us.”

 

 _Yeah, because I fucking_ took it up the ass _from your_ fucking huge cock _and my ass_ still hurts _, and that’s not going to change anything one_ fucking _bit,_ Stiles thought a bit hysterically. Then he blew his own breath through his nostrils, making himself calm down. Derek sounded really upset. The least Stiles could do-- not that he was considering leaving-- was talk to Derek. Even after what happened last night--

And now Stiles looked at the calendar.

 _Bloody_ fucking  _hell_.

Last night was the full moon.

Stiles's mind whirled back to a conversation he'd had with Deaton before he'd left Beacon Hills.

_"How do werewolves make their mates... y'know, their mates?"_

_"You mean how do they choose their mates?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Well, when they've been in close proximity to their chosen mate for one full lunar cycle-- not just close proximity physically, but emotionally as well-- then they will start to show signs in the last two weeks before the next full moon. The night of the full moon, they will claim their mate if their mate does not show any sign of disapproval."_

_"Claim?"_

_"They will fuck their mate, and bite, hard, on the back of the neck. Enough to leave a mark that will never fully heal, branding the mate for all time as the werewolf's."_

_"Ouch."_

_"It's a good kind of hurt, Stiles. Werewolves mate for life, and only with someone they love."_

Oh fuck.

Derek had  _claimed_  him.

Stiles's hand flew up to the mark on the back of his neck-- one that he would bear for forever now.

He was Derek's mate.

Derek had chosen  _him._

Had chosen Stiles Stilinski.

And suddenly, Stiles wasn't mad, or freaked out.

He was only smug, and a bit concerned.

After all, his mate was out there, worried.

***

"Derek?" Stiles called softly, pushing open the door.

Derek's head whipped around at a speed that would have snapped a human's, his gaze worried.

"Hey," Stiles said, smiling a bit warily, and moving to sit next to Derek on the loveseat. The TV was on, but the volume was low enough to be ignored.

Derek was still watching him cautiously, like he expected Stiles to punch Derek, or slap him, or get up and leave, or maybe all three. It made Stiles's heart ache, and he nonchalantly reached up to rub lightly across the new claiming mark. "So," Stiles said casually. "Guess we're mates now."

It was like he flicked a switch. A tortured look entered Derek's eyes, and he was babbling-- Jesus  _Christ,_  Derek Hale was actually babbling-- "I'm sorry, Stiles, I swear I didn't mean to, it was just instinct, and I couldn't stop when you didn't put up any fight, and I  _knew_  you didn't like me like that, I knew we were just friends, but I went ahead and claimed you anyway, and I fucked it all up, I meant to talk to you about it, meant to ask you--"

"Jesus Christ, did I really have to mate with you to get you to talk about your feelings?" Stiles laughed, and when Derek shut up, watching Stiles with wide eyes, Stiles just grinned at Derek. "I'm not mad at you, Derek. I didn't put up any fight because I  _wanted_  it, and I've wanted it for fucking  _years_  now, so please. Don't ruin the best thing to ever happen to me by saying that you regret doing it." Stiles suddenly sobered, looking at Derek worriedly. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"No!" Derek burst out, and Stiles let out a relieved laugh.

"Good. Because I'd really like to do that again. I'm off today, don't have any plans... yet." Stiles smirked at Derek, who promptly kissed the smirk off of Stiles's face.

It was even better than their first kiss.


End file.
